


Fruit of the Dragon

by abbner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Animal Sacrifice, Blood, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Mental Health Issues, These tags make this sound a lot darker than it actually is, Wedding Planning, Weird ancient rituals, nonbinary byleth, very light background dedue/mercedes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbner/pseuds/abbner
Summary: It's an ancient Kingdom tradition for the king or queen's betrothed to slay a wild wyvern, drag it back to Fhirdiad, cut out it's heart and eat it whole. Naturally, Felix rises to the challenge. For once, Dimitri really wishes he wouldn't.For 2021 Dimilix Week day 2: Blood (and day 7: marriage)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34
Collections: 2021 Dimilix Week





	Fruit of the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> this is HEAVILY inspired by the part in game of thrones where daenerys eats the horse heart. that's pretty much what happens in this, but with 1000% more anxiety. please read the tags before proceeding!

According to the custom, the king or queen of Faerghus is not to see their betrothed on the morning of the ceremony. But Dimitri has never cared much for tradition.

He awakens early to see Felix bent over in front of the vanity, tugging a comb through his long, dark hair, watching in affectionate silence for a few moments as he struggles with a particularly nasty looking knot at the back of his head. Though Dimitri can feel his bubbling frustration from across the room, there’s still something about Felix that looks different in the pale early light. Something softer, warmer, familiar. Something that’s turned Dimitri into a morning person despite himself.

He wants nothing more in the world than for Felix to forget all about the Fruit of the Dragon, to crawl back into bed with him instead. To stay there together all day, undisturbed by wedding planners or flower arrangements or seating charts or ancient blood rituals.

It’s a lovely thought. Lovely and impossible. Dimitri sighs.

Felix snaps his head up. He rolls his eyes. “You’re not supposed to be awake.”

“You are not supposed to be here,” Dimitri says.

“I’m aware. I’d have left an hour ago if it wasn’t for this mess,” he says, gesturing the tangles falling haphazardly down his back.

“Let me help,” Dimitri says, propping himself up. “We can’t have you chasing after a pack of wild wyverns with knots in your hair.”

Felix grumbles but comes to sit on the bed in front of Dimitri, handing him the comb. “It’s the least you can do, seeing as it’s your fault. This is why I don’t let it get this long.”

“I know. Though I wish you would not put yourself through such discomfort to suit my preferences.”

The back of Felix’s neck turns pink under Dimitri’s fingers. “It’s not- whatever,” he grumbles. “Enjoy it while you can. It’s getting slashed off the moment the wedding is over.”

“Mm,” Dimitri hums. He puts the comb aside and buries his nose in Felix’s hair, wrapping one arm around his waist to pull him closer.

Felix makes a small noise of protest but allows himself to be pulled halfway into Dimitri’s lap, melting a little into the embrace. Dimitri closes his eyes. In moments like this, with Felix’s warmth against him, it’s hard to remember why he’s been so worried these last several weeks. 

In just a few short days they’ll be married. All else subsides in the light of that glorious, yet still at times unbelievable truth. 

“The more time I waste here the more likely they are to fly off,” Felix says after a moment, though he makes no attempt to break free. “Ingrid found the pack almost a week ago, they don’t stay in one place long.”

Dimitri doesn’t respond right away, inhaling the familiar piney scent of their soap. Felix shivers, his body betraying the irritation in his voice.

“Would that be the worst thing?” Dimitri murmurs.

Felix stiffens. Seems to go cold in Dimitri’s arms. “Yes,” he says, and pulls away.

Dimitri lets him go, his heart sinking. “Apologies, Felix,” he says. “The Fruit of the Dragon is an ancient, sacred ritual, I meant no disrespect.”

“You’re joking, right?” Felix says, a sharpness in his tone that usually doesn’t appear until later in the day. 

“I suppose.” Dimitri frowns. “Felix, you do not  _ have _ to do this.”

Felix’s eyes narrow. “I’m not doing this because I _ have  _ to.”

“Yes, you have said that, but Felix, I just,” he breaks off, takes a deep breath. “I do not want you to think that you have to… to prove anything to me. The idea that you could ever be unworthy of me is nonsensical, absolutely absurd. The truth is far closer to the opposite-”

“Enough,” Felix says, his eyes flashing. He gets up and puts his coat on, his back turned. When he looks back to Dimitri his face is stern, unreadable. Like it’s been so often these last few weeks. “I’ll see you tonight. And  _ don’t tell anyone _ you saw me!”

Dimitri sighs. “Of course. It is our secret.”

The corner of Felix’s mouth twitches. “Our secret,” he says, a hint of warmth returning to his eyes, and he’s gone.

***

The fruit of the dragon is a day-long ceremony in which the king or queen’s betrothed must hunt down a wild wyvern, kill it, drag it back to Fhirdiad, cut out it’s heart, and eat it.

The ritual has been observed by Faerghus royalty for hundreds of years. It is older than the Kingdom itself. Older even than Fodlan. It is about the same age as Crests, slightly older or slightly younger depending on which scholar you ask. Very annoyingly, it began with Blaiddyd and Fraldarius of the Ten Elites. 

In the months since Dimitri and Felix announced their engagement there has not been a single person in Faerghus uninterested in this coincidence, though few would call it that. Many believe that they are some kind of reincarnation of their ancestors, uniting to usher in a new era just as they did a thousand years ago. Other more nationalistic Faerghans called them Loog and Kyphon, though they’d become quite used to that already. One popular wayseer proclaimed that this was a sign from beyond, signifying that Dimitri’s reign of peace and prosperity would last for one thousand years. Some took this more literally than others. 

Dimitri personally has decided that the coincidence is due to the cosmic forces that have conspired throughout history to ensure that nothing in his life can ever just be simple. Not even loving Felix, which, up until now, he has found to be the simplest thing he has ever done. 

Felix thinks his theory, along with all the others, is ridiculous. Sheer coincidence, he says, and not worth dwelling on. 

Annette thinks it means they are soulmates. Felix thinks this is even  _ more  _ ridiculous than all the others. Though he turns a bit pink every time she says it.

In any case, Felix is probably right that it’s nothing more than a happy accident. But it’s been uniquely infuriating to Dimitri and Felix both to endure endless commentary not only on their engagement itself, but on what it  _ signifies.  _ And, it follows, on Felix’s performance in tonight’s ritual.

Because the thousand years of peace and prosperity will certainly only come to pass if Felix is able to eat the entire heart, without throwing up, passing out, or dying. There is no worse omen than a failure in the Fruit of the Dragon. Surely it would spell certain doom, not just for their marriage but for Dimitri’s entire reign, and probably for all of united Fodlan. And thus the anticipation for Dimitri and Felix’s fruit of the Dragon ritual had reached peaks unheard of for previous kings and queens. 

Dimitri hadn’t given it a second thought at first. He’d assumed that this tradition was one that he and Felix would do away with, trampled underfoot on their path to building a better world like so many others before it. It serves no purpose, hasn’t for centuries, and hasn’t even been that strictly observed in recent generations. His grandfather hadn’t performed it for his grandmother, nor had his mother for his father. Unfortunately this is still a popular theory as to why she died in childbirth, despite Dimitri’s utter fury every time it’s mentioned in his presence, and despite the opinion of any respected healer. And even in the unlikely case that it were true, childbearing is not something that Dimitri and Felix are particularly worried about.

He had laughed the first time Felix brought up the ritual in an early wedding planning meeting. Assumed it was one of his strange, dry jokes. No one else had laughed. Felix least of all.

Felix was deadly serious and deadly set on performing the Fruit of the Dragon. His focus on it was and remains razor sharp, rivaled only by his own commitment to sword training back in their monastery days. And Dimitri cannot for the life of him figure out why this is. It’s not like Felix harbors any respect for tradition or any desire to follow in the footsteps of those who came before him - especially the ones from whom he is descended. As if he’d willingly participate in anything that could be considered a family tradition.

It’s not about proving his strength either, though that’s certainly part of it. Felix has never been one to back down from a challenge, but he’s not as bullheaded as he was as a teenager and knows how to pick his battles. And he usually picks well - when he gets his hands dirty it’s usually for a higher purpose.

Which makes his insistence on going through with this evening’s ritual that much more baffling. There is  _ no _ benefit, _ no  _ good reason, as far as Dimitri can see, to Felix doing what he is about to do. 

The thought of Felix going through something so unpleasant, so painful, just for him… it makes his stomach turn and his head hurt. Felix has been through enough, sacrificed enough for Dimitri already. He’s proven a thousand times over not only his worthiness, but the undeniable fact that he deserves far better than Dimitri, far more than a broken mind in a broken body.

But his attempts to make Felix understand this have all failed, and failed spectacularly. Each time he has broached the subject Felix has only become more resolute in his decision. And angry, recently, before he’d started refusing to engage on the topic whatsoever, returning Dimitri’s increasingly desperate pleas with nothing but stony, unreadable silence, a shadow in his eyes that Dimitri hadn’t seen since the war.

So he stopped pleading. Accepted that Felix was going to go through with this, whether Dimitri liked it or not. Whether Dimitri understood it or not.

Which he doesn’t, still, despite thinking of very little else for the past several weeks. But he does understand that Felix cares about this deeply. So Dimitri tries his best to accept it, to push through the fear and nausea and support Felix in his decision, incomprehensible though it is to him. Because that’s what you do when you love someone.

It’s one of many things he’s learned from Felix’s example.

***

It’s no use trying to go back to sleep at this point, Dimitri knows from much frustrating experience. So he doesn’t try. Instead he sets himself to preparing for what is sure to be a very long day. He’s not as busy as Felix, of course, but his plate is still quite full even without having to slay a wild wyvern. 

The castle is already bustling when Dimitri leaves his quarters, excitement palpable in the air around him. Staffers run this way and that, arms full of decorations or menus or cleaning supplies as they scramble to put the finishing touches on the castle before guests begin arriving later this afternoon. The hallways, usually rather hushed this early in the morning, buzz with enthusiastic conversation and laughter.

It all makes him feel rather queasy.

He’s almost relieved to bury himself in the final preparations for the wedding, only a few short days away. Almost. The feeling is short lived, as the millionth day in a row of reviewing seating arrangements reminds him just how tortuous this entire affair has been. He has found wedding planning to be a truly exhausting enterprise- he’d severely underestimated what a toll the whole process would take on him. It’s all Dimitri can do sometimes to stop himself from grabbing Felix and stealing away to the first run-down chapel they find on Fhirdiad’s outskirts, just to get it over with. He knows Felix wouldn’t object, he’s even more fed up with the whole thing than Dimitri is. Or he wouldn’t if it weren’t for his single-minded focus on this evening’s activities. 

He shakes himself a little, takes a deep breath and tries his best to push the looming ritual out of his mind for as long as he possibly can. Focus instead on his next pressing task of reviewing the floral arrangements which have just arrived for the wedding ceremony.

“Oh dear,” his aide says the moment they enter the royal cathedral where the wedding will take place. 

“What is the matter now?” Dimitri asks wearily.

“We ordered  _ sapphire blue  _ hydrangeas,” she says, gesturing angrily toward the high vaulted ceilings now draped with blossoms. “These are _ clearly  _ midnight blue.”

For the life of him Dimitri cannot remember the color of flowers he’d agreed to. “That sounds serious.”

“It is,” his aide says, gravely. “We _ specifically  _ told the florist to avoid midnight blue. The red undertones make the Duke look ever so...severe.”

Dimitri frowns. “Felix always looks severe. That is just how he looks.”

“Yes, well,” she says, flipping furiously through her clipboard, “no need to make it worse than it has to-”

She cuts off with a small gasp, a look of horror on her colorless face as she realizes what she’s said. Dimitri stops in his tracks, turns slowly to face her, but is interrupted before he can politely remind her that Felix is the most attractive man in the continent. 

“Your Majesty,” Dedue approaches from behind them greeting him with a curt bow. “You must come with me immediately. The lunch division of the culinary subcommittee has urgent need of you.”

Dimitri glowers down at his aide for another long moment, but allows himself to be ushered away. As they exit the cathedral he decides this is for the best. An argument with one of his attendants would probably relieve some tension in the moment but only cause him further headache down the line. And further headache is the last thing he needs.

Dedue, as always, can sense this. 

“There are not actually any matters that require your attention, Your Majesty,” he says once they’re well out of earshot. “But it is my opinion that you should rest before tonight’s ceremony. I apologize for the deception.” 

Dimitri sighs in relief. Usually he’s quite annoyed when he’s tricked into taking a break, but today even he can’t deny that he needs one. “There is no apology necessary, Dedue.”

He nods. “The archbishop has arrived. I thought the three of us could take tea together.”

Dimitri actually smiles, filled with warm appreciation for his best friend. “That sounds lovely, Dedue. Just like old times.” Dedue returns a small smile, but Dimitri sees the growing worry for him in his eyes as he pushes open the door to his study.

Byleth is already there, sitting in front of the crackling hearth and pouring three cups of tea. As ever they look more like the professor he knew at the monastery than the most powerful religious leader on the continent. And as ever the sight of them immediately sets Dimitri at ease. Somewhat.

“Dimitri,” they say, rising to embrace him. Their smile is as wide as he’s ever seen it. “You look awful.”

He chuckles darkly. “Yes, well,” he says, collapsing down into his armchair, “you of all people understand how draining these elaborate ceremonies can be. At least we will begin to see the fruits of our labor in a few hours. All the stress will be worth it, in the end.” He forces a small smile that he’s certain his two closest friends can see right through.

Dedue frowns. He sits down on the chair opposite Dimitri and rests his elbows on his knees, folding his hands. “Your Majesty,” he says, his voice grave, “please allow me to advise you, one final time, that going through with this ritual is a mistake.”

Dimitri can’t stop himself from laughing. If only Dedue knew how much he agreed. How many times he’s tried to convince Felix of exactly this. 

But Felix, of course, cannot be swayed. And that means that Dimitri cannot allow himself to be swayed either, not by Dedue or any other of his friends who have tried to convince him to call off the ritual. And most have tried, at least the ones who weren’t raised in Faerghus. It is a uniquely frustrating thing, Dimitri has come to realize, having the same argument over and over again but finding yourself on a different side of it each time. He is quickly losing patience for it.

He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Thank you for your advice, Dedue,” he says. “Once again, allow me to reassure you that everything will be fine.”

Dedue is not reassured. “Mercedes has told you, multiple times, that Felix is likely to become incredibly sick, or worse, if he goes through with this.”

“He could, but he won’t.” This is the one thing of which Dimitri is absolutely certain.

“You do not know that.”

“Yes, I do. Felix has proved his strength countless times on the battlefield. Proving it once more should be no issue at all.”

“This ritual will prove nothing, other than that the Duke is the most stubborn man alive,” Dedue says. “Which we already know, rendering the whole thing pointless.”

“Well, you know, it’s not  _ entirely _ pointless,” Dimitri says. “Before we had advanced faith magic it was exceedingly dangerous to carry a child bearing the Blaiddyd crest to term. My ancestors needed a method of testing the strength of their future queens before putting them in mortal peril.”

“Dimitri,” Dedue says, somewhat exasperated, “unless I am mistaken about a number of things, Felix is _ not  _ planning on bearing you any children. And even if he were, eating an entire raw wyvern heart would say _ nothing _ about his ability to do so. How can I make you understand this?”

Dimitri sighs. “I understand it perfectly.”

“It could be worse, Dedue,” Byleth interjects. “I recently read about Loog and Kyphon’s Fruit of the Dragon, where Kyphon-”

“Please do not remind him of that  _ fictional  _ story,” Dedue interrupts, closing his eyes. “Mercedes has already had to explain to them that it is  _ not humanly possible _ to consume an entire wyvern in one evening.”

(“An entire wyvern, eh?” Felix had said, a gleam in his eye, when Dimitri mentioned the legend during a previous argument with Dedue and Mercedes.

“Absolutely not, Felix,” Mercedes had said in a voice Dimitri has only ever heard her use on the battlefield. Felix had not pressed the issue.)

“I didn’t realize you cared so much about Felix, Dedue,” Byleth says. “If I recall, during the war you two could barely stand to be in the same room.”

“Duke Fraldarius and I have grown to...tolerate each other,” Dedue says. “And it will cause his majesty great anguish should something befall him. Which it will, with near certainty, if he tries to eat a raw wyvern heart” he adds, giving Dimitri his most pointed look yet.

Dimitri frowns. “He is not going to _ try _ to eat a wyvern heart, he is going to  _ succeed  _ at it.”

Dedue rubs his brow, an alarming gesture that he only uses when he’s aggravated to the point where anyone else would begin throwing chairs. He opens his mouth but cuts off when Ingrid bursts through the door, beaming and breathing heavily.

“I just got word from Sylvain,” she exclaims. “He got one!”

Byleth’s eyes widen. “He got one himself?”

“Yes,” Ingrid says, pride in her eyes. “He’s the first in at least a century to slay his own wyvern.”

“How impressive,” Byleth says.

Dimitri scoffs under his breath. He is entirely unsurprised by Felix’s accomplishment. Hadn’t imagined for even a second that Felix would let some faceless bow knight show him up today of all days. Still, he feels warm pride blooming in his chest at the news of Felix’s feat. He’s caught somewhat off guard by the feeling - it’s the first time the ritual has stirred anything but apprehension in him.

“To single-handedly slay a wild wyvern is quite an accomplishment,” Dedue says, with a meaningful look at Dimitri. “Wouldn’t you agree that Felix has more than proved his worthiness today, your majesty?”

“Oh, Dedue,” Ingrid sighs. “This again?”

“Ingrid,” he says, turning to her, “you are a reasonable person. Please help me convince his highness that going through with this rite is a terrible idea.”

“Oh I agree completely,” Ingrid says. “It’s a terrible idea.”

“Thank you, Ingrid. See, your Majesty, Sir Galatea agrees that Felix does  _ not _ have to poison himself to demonstrate his devotion.”

Ingrid scoffs. “Of course he has to do it. It’s the oldest Kingdom tradition there is. And more importantly, it’s Felix presented with a challenge.”

“That’s a good point,” Byleth chimes in.

Dedue shakes his head. “It seems that is all it comes down to.”

_ It’s not, _ Dimitri thinks. But he decides to let Dedue accept the simple explanation rather than prolong an argument he didn’t want to have in the first place.

“I really don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Ingrid says later as they leave to begin preparations for the ritual. “Felix’s diet is mostly raw meat anyway. He’ll probably just ask for another heart when he’s done with the first one.”

“See, Dedue?” Dimitri says, elbowing him with another forced grin. He's beginning to worry his face will get stuck like this. “Nothing to worry about.”

Dedue closes his eyes and sighs. “Mercedes and I will stay in the castle for a week after the ceremony,” he says after a long pause. “That way she will be nearby should the worst happen.”

Dimitri considers. “As long as you tell Felix you’re here for some other reason, I have no objections.”

Dedue nods. “I will start formulating our cover story at once.”

Dimitri nods, glad to have finally put this discussion to bed. He takes a deep breath as they approach the reception hall, and wishes he felt half as sure as Dedue believes him.

* * *

For a ritual as peculiar as the Rite of the Dragon, the opening reception is remarkably similar to any of the hundreds of conventional balls and feasts that Dimitri has suffered since becoming king. Only much worse, because he doesn’t have Felix by his side with whom to exchange covert glances and whispered mockery as he’s forced to offer his polite greetings to every blathering noble in Fodlan. His only respite from the small talk comes when one of their old monastery friends arrives.

“Lysithea, wonderful to see you,” Dimitri says as she approaches, with an exhausted but genuine smile. “And Linhardt, I must admit I’m rather surprised, though I am so glad you were able to make it.”

“As am I,” he says, shaking Dimitri’s hand. His eyes are alight. “I’ve never attended a Rite of the Dragon before, but one of my colleagues believes it’s related to the origin of crests. I really don’t know what to expect, but I’m sure it will be remarkable.”

Dimitri frowns. “You don’t- you were told what is going to happen though, right?"

“Oh no,” Linhardt continues, animated but entirely unworried. “I wanted to experience it all at once. Maximize the impact, you know?”

“Hey, Dimitri,” Lysithea cuts in, “please let Felix know I made him a very bland cake for afterwards if he needs something to settle his stomach. No sugar in it at all. I can’t imagine he’s going to feel great after ingesting that much wyvern blood.”

Linhardt goes pale. “Ingesting  _ what _ ?”

Dimitri grimaces and gives his arm a gruff pat. “You may want to sit towards the back. And thank you, Lysithea, I will pass on the message. Great to see you both.”

Ingrid approaches as Lysithea drags a greener-than-usual Linhardt away by the arm.

“I’m here to rescue you,” she says. “They’re almost here, it’s time to get in position.”

Dimitri lets her lead him away with a mixture of gratitude and trepidation. The din of the reception chamber grows quieter as they retreat down the blessedly empty hall towards the audience chamber where the ritual will be held. The knots in Dimitri’s stomach tighten with each step they get closer.

“So, how are you feeling?” Ingrid asks after a few moments. “Nervous?”

“Hm,” Dimitri considers lying, but decides it’s too late for that. “Yes, I am quite nervous. Foolish of me, I know. I barely have to do anything, after all.”

She shrugs. “It’s not silly. Dedue’s not wrong, you know. He could really hurt himself.”

“That is not what I am worried about.”

Ingrid nods. “Yeah, I know.” She puts a hand on his arm. “It’s…intense. Scary, even. To have someone show you how devoted they are to you.”

Dimitri frowns. “That is not why Felix is doing this.”

“Isn’t it?” she says. “Why else would he be doing it?”

“I-I truly don’t know.” His voice breaks on the last syllable as he admits the truth out loud.

Ingrid gives him a confused look. “Are you being serious? He’s doing it for you, obviously.”

“For me, no, Ingrid-” he grabs her by the arm, pulling her to a stop. His mind races. “If that is true, we _must_ call this off, immediately. Send everyone away.”

“What?” she exclaims, startled. “Your Majesty,  _ why  _ would we do that?”

“I will not- I _ cannot  _ allow Felix to go through with this out of some sense of obligation to me,” Dimitri says, his voice growing louder and more frantic. “I will _ not  _ see him harmed because some barbaric tradition questions his worthiness.” 

Ingrid furrows her brow. “Okay, one, that is obviously not why Felix is doing this. I don’t think he’s done something out of obligation in his life.”

“That is not-”

“And two,” she continues, cutting him off, “I thought you said you weren’t worried about him getting hurt. That you were certain he could handle this.”

“I am.”

“Then what’s really going on here?” Ingrid asks, her voice a bit quieter.

Dimitri shuts his eyes. The back of his throat tightens.

He feels a soft hand on his own.

After a long pause he sighs. He looks up at Ingrid. “The ceremony will be...unpleasant for Felix.” 

“Yes,” Ingrid agrees. “I’m sure it will.”

“I am not sure he realizes exactly how unpleasant it will be,” Dimitri continues. “But, when the time comes and he has to face it…” he trails off, looking down.

Ingrid leans forward, trying to meet his eyes. “Are you worried he’ll back out?”

Dimitri turns his head away. “No. I know he would never back out. Not even if it would kill him. That is the problem.”

“But it won’t kill him-”

“You do not understand,” he says, shaking his head. “It is not- it’s not just about the ceremony. Tonight is just the beginning. Things will only become more unpleasant for him from here on out.” He lifts his eye, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “There is much... unpleasantness involved in being close to me.”

“Oh, Your Majesty,” Ingrid sighs, squeezing his hand. “Felix knows that.”

Dimitri pauses. “I can’t- if he knew, if he really understood, he would not- could not- choose to walk down this path.”

“He does know,” she says softly. “He knows and he’s choosing you anyways.”

Dimitri closes his eyes. “It is difficult for me to believe that.”

Ingrid sighs. “Since when has something being difficult stopped you from doing it?”

“I- I don’t-”

“It hasn’t. Ever. And it’s never stopped Felix either.” When Dimitri doesn’t respond after a moment she continues. “Look, I know it’s difficult for you to trust people, but… just try to trust Felix on this, okay?”

Dimitri bristles at the implication. “I do trust him,” he says. “I trust him with my life, every day.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ingrid says. “But you’re going to have to figure it out for yourself. We need to go, quickly. I wouldn’t put it past Felix to start without us.”

“I- very well then,” Dimitri says. He allows Ingrid to pull him down the hall toward the small sitting room where his retinue is waiting for him. She doesn’t let go of his hand until they reach it. It’s rather nice, he thinks. He hasn’t held Ingrid’s hand since they were children. He’d forgotten the sense of calm stability that comes with it.

“I’ve got to leave you here,” she says to him when they reach the door. “But your Majesty, you should know that Felix isn’t the only one who’s still choosing you, despite everything.” She looks directly into his eyes with a conviction that startles him. “You’re our king, and we’re sworn to you,” she continues, “but it’s not just that. We believe in you.”

“I-,” he doesn’t know what to say, the back of his throat tingling once again. “Thank you, Ingrid.”

“Of course,” she gives his hand one final squeeze before she drops it. “Good luck, Dimitri.”

* * *

Ingrid is right that there is very little time left before the ceremony begins. He barely has time to process the instructions he’s given by the several aides whirling around him. Someone is tugging at his hair in a way that is somehow much gentler and infinitely more uncomfortable than when Felix does it. Another helps him dress, or rather, entraps him in the downright garish black ceremonial robes with embroidery of pure spun gold that he’s tried several times to get out of wearing.

Finally all the busy hands leave him, satisfied or at least resigned to the fact that nothing they do is going to make him look any more kingly in the last few moments before he’s thrust before the crowd. 

“Wow,” says a familiar voice behind him. “You look quite regal.”

He turns to see Dedue and Byleth, looking less like Dedue and Byleth than he’s ever seen them. Both are dressed in plain dark robes, hair pulled tightly back from their faces which are painted bone white. Thick rings of black encircle their eyes, giving the illusion that he’s conversing with two skeletons.

“Thank you. You look, um… thank you again for doing this,” he says.

“It’s no trouble,” Byleth says. “It’s all rather exciting, don’t you agree, Dedue?”

“Hm,” Dedue says with a grimace. Dimitri gets the sense that having to wear a full face of makeup has not made him any more excited about the ritual. “Let us get this over with.”

“Yes, let’s,” Byleth says. “Lead the way, Dimitri.”

Dimitri nods, takes a deep breath. A fresh wave of queasiness overtakes him. He clenches his jaw. 

_ Just trust Felix, _ Ingrid had said. But of course he trusts Felix. How could she think he doesn’t?

_ Then why are you so afraid of?  _ asks a small voice in the back of his mind. He finds he has no answer.

Trust Felix. He can do that. He’s never stopped doing that. 

He grounds himself in this thought as the doors to the audience chamber creak open before him. The massive hall has been completely transformed for the ceremony. Wooden bleachers packed with guests line the sides of the usually cavernous space, making the room feel much more intimate than it ever has before. Between them a round stage fills the center of the floor, a great stone slab, raised slightly to the level of the throne pedestal, where Dimitri stands with Dedue and Byleth behind him. 

The room cheers as he takes his place before them, a phenomenon that he still hasn’t quite gotten used to despite it happening every time he comes before a crowd. He’s tried to learn to appreciate it, to believe Felix when he tells him that it’s a sign of love and not fear. But still he waves his hand after a few seconds, ready for it to be over as soon as it begins. They don’t listen, they never do, and it does nothing to soothe his nerves.

“ _ The shield approaches _ .”

Ingrid’s voice rings out crystal clear, sending a shiver down Dimitri’s spine as it echoes off the high arched ceilings. He turns behind him to look for it’s source, high above them in the balcony over the throne that usually remains empty and guarded. Ingrid stands there now, reading from a great tome in hooded robes of red, a small crowd of similarly-clad figures behind her. Dimitri remembers now what he learned as a child - that the audience chamber was designed with this very ritual in mind, the acoustics calibrated perfectly so that only one standing exactly where Ingrid is could command the entire room as she does now. 

The torches lining the walls dim seemingly of their own accord, replaced with flames suddenly encircling the dais. Rather overdramatic, in Dimitri’s opinion, but then again it was he who agreed to put Dorothea in charge of pyrotechnics. Finally a hush sweeps over the crowd, the din replaced with a flurry of excited whispers. 

“ _ Oh!” _ Byleth yelps under their breath, startling Dimitri as they tug him down by the arm to whisper in his ear. “I almost forgot. In my official capacity as archbishop, I hereby condemn all participants in this ritual as blasphemers against the Goddess Sothis and the Church of Seiros.”

Dimitri gapes at them. “Wha- you’re telling me this  _ now?” _ he hisses.

They nod. “Seteth made me promise. Apparently it has roots in a plot to kill the goddess. We’ll talk about your punishment later.”

_ “Punishment?” _

“Yes. Until recently heresy was punishable by death,” they say, “but since I took over we’ve been giving out a lot of community service.”

“Community service.”

“Yes.” They pause. “I guess I’ll have to sentence myself too. You, me, and Felix can clean out the stables together. Could be fun.”

Dimitri isn’t so sure about that. “You can be the one to tell Felix.”

Byleth gives him a tiny smile. “That’s the least I can do.”

They release his shoulder and Dimitri straightens up, doing his best to get back into the right frame of mind. 

It’s not difficult when the chorus comes in. From behind Ingrid they begin the long chant that will carry through the entire ceremony. It begins low and subtle, barely a hum, but creates such tension in the room that Dimitri finds it difficult to breathe. The great oaken doors at the opposite end of the hall lurch open with a groan, a single beam of light falling down the center of the hall splitting the dais in two. 

“ _ The shield arrives. _ ”

Silhouetted in the light are three figures- one short, another quite tall, and the third, following behind, hunched over under the weight of something enormous, its wings and tail dragging along the floor behind it. It’s far too dark for Dimitri to see their faces, but he can make out the familiar  _ clack, clack  _ of Felix’s heeled boots on the stone floor. 

The sound immediately relieves some of the tightness in his chest and shoulders. He tries to suppress a smile.

“ _ In the time of dragons,”  _ Ingrid’s voice rings out,  _ “the liberator cast a light into the darkness _ .”

Almost imperceptibly a drum starts beating, low and steady like a heartbeat.

“ _ And alongside the liberator rode ten harbingers of the light, and the fiercest were Blaiddyd and his beloved Fraldairus. _ ”

Another shiver runs through him, not entirely from nerves. It’s a story every child in Faerghus has heard a thousand times, but in the shadows of the transformed hall the words feel entirely different.

“ _ But there were those who stood against the light, and there were dragons who stood with them _ .” 

“Yes this is _ very  _ blasphemous,” Byleth murmurs, not sounding terribly concerned.

" _ Blaiddyd and Fraldarius brought the light to Ailell. And with each came two sworn swords _ .”

Dimitri steps forward onto the dais, Dedue and Byleth behind him. Opposite them, the three shrouded figures do the same. The middle, hulking one remains shrouded in darkness, but on either side Annette and Sylvain’s faces emerge, illuminated by the soft, flickering light of the flames. Their faces are painted skulls just like Byleth and Dedue’s, though the intended effect is somewhat ruined by Annette’s giddy smile and Sylvain’s exaggerated wink in Byleth’s direction. 

_ “And there the dark dragon fell upon them.” _

The drums get louder, faster. The flames surrounding the dais suddenly glow red and leap. A few cries ring out from the crowd as the fires send strange shadows swooping throughout the hall, like great flying beasts encircling their prey. 

_ “And the four swords fell.” _

Sylvain and Annette kneel. He hears the soft thud of Dedue and Byleth doing the same behind him. And for a moment it’s he and Felix alone in the red glow.

“ _ And after a day and a night of vicious battle, Blaiddyd fell _ .”

Slowly, Dimitri kneels. Now Felix stands alone on the dais, a silhouette to all but Dimitri, who can just make out the amber glint of his eyes.

_ “Bloodied, exhausted, grieving, still Fraldarius refused to give in to despair. She lifted her eyes from Blaiddyd to the blood red sky above, where the dragon circled, ready to claim its final victim.” _

The flames encircling the dais rise and shift, finally illuminating Felix and the hulking wyvern draped over his shoulders. Bathed in the red light that sends flickering, illusionary shadows up the arched stone walls, the dead wyvern looks very much alive, breathing, its scaly wings encircling Felix like an embrace. It’s a bit smaller than the tame ones bred for riding, but what it lacks in size it surely made up for in brute strength and ferocity.

Not that it was any match for Felix. There’s not a scratch on him, and he stands up straight despite his massive burden. His dark hair falls loose and reaches halfway to his waist, and he’s dressed in a loose tunic and trousers, stainless and pure white. 

His eyes are fixed on Dimitri’s, and are the brightest things in the room. 

_ “In her rage she slew the dragon herself, felling it in a single blow. _ ”

Felix hauls the massive form off his back, over his head with a soft grunt. It hits the stone floor with a loud thud that rings throughout the hall. The drums rise to meet the sound, louder now, faster, or maybe that’s just the sound of Dimitri’s heartbeat. 

Felix rolls his shoulders a few times as if he’s between spars at the training grounds. To all gathered he appears undaunted by what’s coming, as if this is something he does every day. But Dimitri swears he can see a glimmer of something else in his eyes, something familiar, because he feels it within himself, too. 

“ _ And in her desperation, she cut the fruit from within the dragon’s chest.” _

Felix sinks to his knees before the wyvern and pulls out his hunting dagger. The steel glistens in the air for only a moment before he sinks it deep into the beast and tugs, opening its chest. His movements are sure and methodical - he’s done this hundreds of times before after a hunt, not with a wyvern of course, but there seems to be little difference to him. 

He sticks his bare hand into the gash without a moment’s hesitation. A few more quick movements of the knife and he looks up to meet Dimitri’s eye before rising to his feet, clutching the beast’s heart in his hands. 

The drums cease. The room goes silent. Not a single person breathes. The only sound Dimitri can hear is his heart beating in his ears. And Felix’s too, he’s almost certain.

“ _ And ate it whole, _ ”

Felix’s eyes leave Dimitri’s, just for a moment, to take in the bloody organ in his hands. And for the first time, a shadow of doubt passes over his face. His calm expression falters and his eyes widen almost imperceptibly as he is faced with the reality of what he is about to do.

He looks back to Dimitri, his eyes bright. Panicked.

It’s not an emotion Dimitri is used to seeing on him, though it’s not the first time. That was back when they were boys, putting down a rebellion, when Felix had first seen him for who he truly was. Who he still is. Before he hid his feelings for Dimitri away. 

He’d seen it again in the ruined cathedral at Garreg Mach, out of the corner of his eye, when Felix believed him too wrapped up in his ghosts to notice the brightness in his eyes as he watched over him.

It’s an expression he’s tried very hard to push from his mind, the one Felix wears now. Because it’s confirmation of the one thing Dimitri fears most of all.

Felix  _ sees.  _ He sees  _ everything. _ He always has. The hateful, the disgusting, the bloody parts of him. Felix sees them all. And they frighten him. 

And... he’s going to eat that heart anyway. Dimitri understands why they are here.

He raises his head and gives Felix a small but certain nod.

Felix’s eyes darken. The corner of his mouth twitches. He lifts the heart to his lips and, gazing deep into Dimitri’s eye, sinks his teeth into it.

Blood oozes out through Felix’s fingers. It runs down the pale skin of his bare forearms, like bright red veins, dripping off his elbows into two puddles at his feet. He pulls away, his face covered in blood, his sharp jaw moving rhythmically, hypnotically. Dimitri cannot tear his eye away from the muscles of Felix’s throat as he flexes them swallowing.

He does not hesitate before taking the second bite.

The drums begin again, accompanied by a soft chant that grows louder with each heavy breath that Dimitri takes. He watches Felix, utterly rapt. Felix swallows the second bite faster than the first, and pauses to gasp a breath before he continues. The redness of his lips and the inside of his mouth should not look nearly as inviting as it does. 

A few in the crowd begin to join the chant, Faerghus natives who know the ancient words. Sylvain and Annette murmur along with them, their heads bowed but eyes shining as they gaze up at Felix. Every eye in the hall is fixed on him, but Felix looks only at Dimitri.

Clouds of incense roll off the balcony thick and heavy, filling the hall with haze like a wildfire. It makes Dimitri’s head swim, the room around him becomes blurry. Only Felix remains crystal clear before him, a vision white and red in the dark room as he bows his head to bite into the heart for a third time, gazing back at Dimitri through his lashes. His white tunic is stained now from the blood running down his neck and chest and arms.

The chanting grows louder as their guests from outside Faerghus begin to pick up the words, and the drums rise to meet it. Dimitri knows the words by heart, of course, but he does not join in, too transfixed by the man standing before him to move. 

_ For me, _ Dimitri reminds himself, awestruck.  _ He is doing this for me. _

A few short minutes ago this thought would have wracked him with guilt. Torn him apart from the inside. How foolish he’d been. How arrogant. To think that he’d tried to talk Felix out of this. That he’d thought Felix unprepared for the challenge. That Felix had offered him this, offered him  _ everything, _ and Dimitri had said he  _ didn’t want it.  _ That he’d tried to hold Felix back from taking this monumental leap of faith. No wonder Felix had gotten so angry.

No more. Felix will not marry a coward. From this night on they leap together.

Perhaps it’s the heavy incense, or the rhythmic chanting, but when Dimitri looks at Felix it’s like he’s staring at the face of the goddess. He’s imagined how Felix would look like this a thousand times before, but  _ nothing  _ compares to having the real thing before him, his eyes blazing, mouth, cheeks and chin stained, red rivulets running down his neck, blood gathering in the soft hollow of his collarbone. Dimitri feels an insane urge to lick it off of him as he tears off another strip of flesh.

_ He’s as blood soaked as I am now _ , Dimitri thinks. But the revulsion he usually feels toward the darkness within himself is gone, in its place he finds something quite different. Something primal, something possessive, adoring, new and brave. Something befitting Felix.

The hall is pandemonium, people rising to their feet, the chanting getting faster and faster. Sylvain bangs on the floor as he chants along with the crowd, his eyes wild. Annette’s are huge, stuck on Felix and full of terror, yelling into her white-knuckled fists clenched in front of her face. The black around their eyes only intensifies their expressions, making them look just as frenzied as Dimitri feels. The crowd roars in unison with them, hundreds of voices in one, pounding like the pulse inside his own body.

Dimitri and Felix alone are silent. As far as Dimitri is concerned the room is empty but for them. He knows that Felix feels the same. As he bites back into the flesh, again and again, the look in his eyes remains crystal clear, and intended for no one but Dimitri. 

And suddenly, there’s only a single chunk of flesh left in his hand. But Felix falters as he lifts it up to his mouth, a pained grimace on his face. His head bobs forward and he doubles over, breaking eye contact with Dimitri for the first time.

The chanting wavers, several people gasp as Felix winces and shuts his eyes, bringing his empty hand up to cover his mouth. Annette lets out a panicked squeak, Sylvain is frozen on all fours, mouth agape as he watches in horror. 

Dimitri feels perfectly calm. He can’t help the small grin from breaking across his face, scoffing at those foolish enough to doubt. He’s never had more faith in Felix in his life. 

Slowly, so slowly, Felix lifts his head. Amber eyes meet his own once more. 

Dimitri nods again. This time Felix grins back at him.

He stands back up, his face pale, his eyes never leaving Dimitri’s. He takes a deep breath. Lifts a shaking, bloodied hand to his mouth and eats the last of the heart. Chews for what feels like an eternity, and swallows.

Silence for a moment. Then, a roar rumbles through the hall, the crowd is on their feet, clapping, stomping, frenzied. His name rings out throughout the hall. Sylvain roars, Annette sobs, Dimitri thinks he can even hear Dedue’s voice from somewhere behind him. 

He has done it. He’s completed the Fruit of the Dragon. He is worthy.

Felix allows the furor to continue for a long moment before raising a single, bloody hand. The room falls utterly silent. Not a single whisper, not a single breath betrays his unspoken command. 

_ Good, _ Dimitri thinks, sweet satisfaction in his chest.  _ They obey their king. _

The silence hangs for a full minute before Ingrid’s voice fills the hall once more. 

_ “She accepted the dragon’s power within her, and she became the shield. And, summoned by the dying wail of the dragon, one thousand men challenged her. And one thousand men fell upon the shield. And when she had slain the last of them, she approached her beloved Blaiddyd, _ ”

Felix comes to him, like an angel in a dream, all white and black and red. His eyes blaze with the light of the dying fires around them, but with something else too, something Dimitri feels in himself, stirring deep, deep within him, a place he’d never known was there.

He reaches out to Dimitri with both hands and takes his face in them, streaking his cheekbones with red, painting his lips with the pads of his thumbs. Marking him, the way Felix is marked, so that there can be no question to whom each belongs. Dimitri growls, the sound comes from that new profound place within him, as he closes his eye and nuzzles into Felix’s palm.

“ _ And said to him _ ,”

“Rise,” Felix says.

“ _ And, accepting her strength into him, he rose. _ ”

Staring up into his eyes, Dimitri wraps his arms around Felix’s thighs, presses his hands into the small of his back, and lifts him off the ground as he stands, slowly, deliberately, the fire, the drums and the crowd rising with them. The sudden light should be blinding, the roar of the crowd deafening, but all Dimitri can see is Felix above him, cradling his face, curving his body down in his arms to press their lips together, his dark hair falling like a veil around their faces. Dimitri tightens one arm around Felix and slides the other up his back to deepen the kiss.

Felix’s mouth is hot and wet, and kissing him is like biting into the heart himself. Dimitri swears he can taste the blood. 

Their skin sticks together as they come up for air, only to press back together once more. Dimitri vaguely hears someone clear their throat behind him over the sound of the crowd. He sets Felix back down on the ground and pulls away slowly.

Their friends fall upon them, Sylvain, Annette, Dedue and Byleth first, and then the rest. He feels hands embracing him, clapping him on the back, ruffling his hair. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Felix. Even surrounded by those they love the most, Dimitri finds he only really has room in his mind for him. 

Reflexively he opens his mouth to apologize for his foolishness over the last few weeks, but he stops himself short. An apology is less than useless to a man of action. 

An idea strikes him then. Without hesitation he pulls Felix close and leans down, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair. 

“Let’s get married,” he murmurs into his ear. “Tonight. We’ll sneak into the cathedral, Byleth can do it.”

When he pulls back Felix’s eyes are wide, but only for a moment. He entwines his bloodied fingers through Dimitri’s and gazes up at him, his amber eyes blazing. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says.

Perhaps, Dimitri thinks, some traditions are not so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: https://twitter.com/_abbner/status/1361354238044098561


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